Sir Mick Jagger was not, by any means, a street fightin’ man, but his charisma and the conviction with which he sang the line, allowed us to suspend our disbelief. The song would have seemed ludicrous, pathetic even, if it had not. Iggy Pop is not, in fact, a street walkin’ cheetah with a heart full of napalm, but when he sang the immortal opening line of “Search and Destroy” last night, he embodied every word.
All Tomorrow’s Parties were celebrating five years of their Don’t Look Back events with a double bill at the Hammersmith Apollo, and had invited Iggy and the Stooges to play Raw Power and Suicide to perform their eponymous debut. While the Stooges have evolved into consummate and seasoned entertainers, Suicide remain resolutely confrontational. Their malevolent take on synth pop has proved far more influential than it has ever been widely listened to.
Alan Vega and Martin Rev are clearly still capable of making a breathtakingly awful noise. Vega directed each act of sonic cruelty with palsied, vagrant petulance as the ghastly boogie of "Johnny" and "Che" descended into dissonant throb and howling feedback. Suicide’s output makes for pretty intolerable domestic listening and a potentially gruelling live experience, but the ghoulish spectacle and colossal volume lent their music an absorbing physicality. It’s testament to the esteem in which they are held that a performance of such abrasive self-indulgence should be so warmly applauded.
The selection of Raw Power, rather than either of the Stooges’ other studio efforts was an intriguing one. Fun House is considered by many to be their best, although the band’s capsule discography is unimpeachable, to the point that a performance of any of their records would be greeted with similar fervour. The choice may have been determined by the availability of original members. Bassist Dave Alexander died in 1975 and guitarist Ron Asheton passed away last year. While both performed on The Stooges and Fun House, only Asheton contributed to Raw Power.
As an album, Raw Power is very much of its time. By 1973 Pop had relocated to London, befriended David Bowie and been seduced by glam rock, but he remained transfixed by the horror of Vietnam. It’s no coincidence the record opens with a reference to napalm: Pop had previously dodged the draft by feigning uncontrollable homosexual urges.
Taking to the stage with “Raw Power”, “Search and Destroy” and “Gimme Danger”, the Stooges sounded predatory: each track almost unrecognisably muscular in comparison with those captured on David Bowie’s notoriously anaemic mix. During “Your Pretty Face is Going to Hell”, Pop launched himself into the baying crowd, which seemed reluctant to allow him back to the stage. The band dispensed with Raw Power’s eight tracks in little more than 35 minutes, before tearing through degenerate anthem “I Wanna be Your Dog”, a breakneck “I Got a Right”, “1970” and “Funhouse”.
While the rest of the Stooges now resemble fairly ordinary middle-aged men, Iggy Pop remains a disconcerting sight. Like a chamois-leather chimpanzee, his slight paunch is the only real physical concession to his advancing years. His distinctive simian gait became more pronounced as his trousers slid past his hips, until held up only by the combined efforts of his buttocks and the base of his penis. Even after 62 hard-lived years Iggy Pop remains a compelling sight, no longer androgynous as before, nor wracked with the self-loathing of old, but insolent as ever and still flying the freak flag high.
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